


crashing into you

by nightwideopen



Category: Marvel, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Flirting, Canon Compliant, Crack, Crossover, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Nervous Niall, ship 1d with superheroes 2k18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: It’s not that Niall doesn’t get starstruck. Because he does. Very often.It’s just… it isn’t everyday that an Avenger comes crashing through his ceiling.





	crashing into you

**Author's Note:**

> so... yeah. I'm not gonna lie, this was a hell of a lot of fun to write! 
> 
> For context this takes place in 2015 just before the One Direction hiatus started and also (if you ignore some the exact timeline of the Fraction Hawkeye comics) right after Kate takes Lucky and goes to L.A. Niall is enjoying some downtime before the last round of MITAM promo and the final performances and this is in an alternate universe where Clint went after Kate (he tells himself he just wants his dog back but we all know he's looking for Kate).
> 
> Also for like not-creepy purposes since Niall is only 22 in this let’s say that Clint is.. less than 30. Also if you don’t know anything about the Hawkeye comics but you’ve seen the Avengers (2012) that’s fine too. However, mcu Clint doesn’t exist so pretend he looks like Fraction & Aja’s Hawkeye. You can google him, he’s amazing. 
> 
> Thank you as always to steph (1000-directions) for piloting the ship 1d with superheroes 2k18 initiative and to everyone that eggs on these little crackships! It's so much fun! I can't believe I wrote this!!!! lmao
> 
> it's basically just clint being a mess and niall being a mess internally but... yknow they manage to work it out.
> 
> probably the worst title i could've come up with IM SO SORRY

It’s not that Niall doesn’t get starstruck. Because he does. Very often. He nearly pissed himself when he met The Eagles, was a shaking mess playing football with _the_ Cristiano Ronaldo. Hell, even playing their Madison Square Garden gig gave him unreasonable jitters that nearly made him vomit and that was just an arena. He’s played golf with countless celebrities, has attended innumerable award shows and has been recognized on the streets of Los Angeles by people he only knew through his television up until five years ago. His life has been flipped on his head in such a short time, but all in all Niall thinks he’s done a pretty good job at keeping himself together in times where he was pretty sure his head was going to explode at the madness of it.

It’s just… it isn’t everyday that an Avenger comes crashing through his ceiling.

At first he doesn’t think much of the noises coming from above him, the TV is turned way up and it’s probably just a raccoon or birds. But then there’s a loud crash and a heavy thud and suddenly there’s a gaping hole in his ceiling. Niall looks up, more out of curiosity and shock than anything, and he can see the stars. Like, actually kind of see them even through the smog. From his bed. Through a hole in his bedroom ceiling.

For the first time in his life, he has absolutely nothing to say.

“Ow, ow, _ow._ Bad idea.”

As Niall peers over the edge of his bed, he recognizes Hawkeye right away, even through all the debris and– is that _blood?_

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be up in a minute. Think I have a – Tony will get you a new ceiling, I promise – concussion? Concussions. Ow, leg.” He finally turns his attention to Niall. “Holy shit, you’re Niall Horan.”

Niall just keeps staring. What the hell is he supposed to say to an Avenger recognizing him?

Probably not, “And you’re Hawkeye,” but that’s what his shell shocked brain goes with.

Hawkeye’s head shoots up to look at Niall and he grimaces through it. “Wow. Really? You know me? Figured you’d think I was Cap or something. Y’know, blonds.” He’s still lying on the floor, a cut across the bridge of his nose steadily leaking blood into Niall’s carpet. “Hey, you’re blond too.” He drops his head back onto the floor with a whimper. “I’m leaving, I swear. Oh man, blood everywhere.”

Niall sits up slowly and picks up one of his pillows. He brings it to his face and lets out a groan that’s frustrated enough to hurt his throat. Then he crouches down beside Hawkeye and lifts his head to slide the pillow underneath it. He reasons with himself that he’s doing it because he can’t have an Avenger dying in his bedroom. The whole world would hate him. 

“Don’t move,” he says hoarsely. “I’ll get a first aid kit, just– stay there. Stay awake.”

Niall swipes his phone from his bedside table before heading into the bathroom across the hall, closing the door tightly behind him. This is ridiculous. He stares at himself in the mirror and takes several shaky breaths before opening up his phone to he and Louis’ chat.

_hypothetical question,_ he types, _what do i do if i have one of the avengers bleeding out on my bedroom floor?_

Louis’ reply comes through faster than he’s ever answered Niall in the five years they’ve known each other.

_niall mate… what the fuck?_

Niall is met with the sudden urge to eat his phone. 

_hypothetically_

_who is it? is it black widow? she’s hot , that’d be sick . tell her she’s sick_ , Louis texts back. 

_it’s hawkeye, stupid. shut up_

_who?_

Niall throws his phone into the sink and yanks the first aid kit out from the cupboard. His heart is pounding, feeling like it’s lodged in his throat. And when he stomps back into his bedroom, Hawkeye is at least five feet from the spot that Niall had told him to stay in, bow still in hand. He’s clutching at his side, breathing heavily and Niall thinks that maybe the dubious secondhand medical knowledge that he picked up from just being in the hospital isn't going to cut it on this one. 

“Jesus Christ, Hawkeye, are you crazy?” Niall grabs the pillow from where he left it and props it up against the wall. He ushers him to sit against it none too gently. “Take your shirt off.”

Hawkeye laughs, but it tapers off into a groan. “If you’re gonna be ordering me out of my clothes you should call me Clint,” he says. 

Niall wants to punch him.

“Fine.”

Clint is surprisingly compliant for someone so sure that he’s not injured. He lets Niall wipe the blood off of his face and place a plaster over the cut on his nose. He doesn’t protest when Niall hitches his shirt up to reveal the dark bruises over his ribs. The only time he comes close to fighting is when Niall reaches to take the bow out of his hand to set it aside. He just shoots Niall a loaded look, tightening his grip and making it clear that he’s not letting go any time soon.

“Can you walk?”

Clint nods. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, I swear it’s just the cuts and bruises.” He uses the wall to hoist himself up and promptly crumbles to his knees when his leg gives out. “Okay, maybe something’s broken. Maybe.”

Niall rolls his eyes and heads for the closet. He grabs the crutches that he’s kept in there just in case his knee ever decides to completely give up on him. He hasn’t properly needed them in a while, but in this moment he’s glad that he’s kept them. 

“Here.”

Clint is half on his feet, half on the wall and looks about ready to faint. But he shoots Niall a smile that looks painful. “I got this.”

“Oh for god’s sakes–” Niall grabs him by the elbow to pull Clint away from the wall and catches him when he inevitably drops all of his body into Niall. “You can’t stand on your own and I can’t carry you. I won’t break the bow, just give it to me and let’s get you downstairs so you can get some ice on your… everywhere.”

Clint, with a grimace to rival all grimaces, reluctantly places the bow in Niall’s hand and accepts the crutches. They barely make it, Clint being dangerously unsteady on the crutches and unsurprisingly clumsy. Niall can tell that he’s probably notoriously accident prone even when he’s not doing all the superhero business and that it’s not because he doesn’t know how to use crutches. 

“ _IKEA,_ this is comfortable,” Clint manages to say when Niall deposits him on the couch, and his bow on the coffee table.

Niall catches the _Friends_ reference right away, immediately thinking of Harry and his frizzy hair. For a moment it hits him that he’s really going to miss that.

“Make yourself comfortable. Are you capable of not moving? You’re like, seriously injured and you’re just gonna make it worse if you keep trying to pretend you aren’t.” He knows is mother hen tendencies are showing, but spending five years with Louis - who refuses help at every opportunity unless he wants attention - has taught him when someone’s pride takes precedence over their pain. “Superhero or not, broken ribs are no joke.”

Clint mumbles something as Niall turns towards the kitchen. 

“What?”

“Not super,” Clint says with a grin. “Not really much a hero neither.”

Oh. That’s a tone that Niall has heard time and again from his bandmates and himself alike. But it’s like… nearly midnight and he doesn’t know this guy no matter how much they’ve heard about each other through the media and whatnot. And he’s not about to get into it.

“You seem to do just fine.”

Then he escapes into the kitchen.

_what is he doing what is he doing what is he doing?_

Niall grants himself a moment to panic about if he has enough to bleach to clean the blood off of his bedroom carpet, then he sets about gathering up every ice pack in his freezer. This is just absolutely ridiculous. This isn’t something that should be happening to Niall. And it was only supposed to be a moment of panic but he finds himself short of breath as he fills his arms until his whole chest is cold from the ice packs. Why does he even have this many ice packs? He has no idea what he’s doing. He should just send Clint off, call an ambulance, call the police, call Louis, call _someone_ , because he isn’t equipped to be handling a situation of this caliber.

Niall catches his breath eventually. He has no idea how he manages it, but he does.

By some miracle, Clint is exactly where Niall left him. He seems to have resigned to the fact that he’s actually injured, as much as that clearly bruised his ego.

“Here.” He dumps the ice packs on Clint as unceremoniously as he can manage without actually hurting him. “Head to toe, ice yourself. Television remote is just behind your head if you wanna watch something to keep yourself awake. If you’ve got a concussion – I’m sure you’ve had one before, you probably know the drill.”

Clint makes a face like he has something snarky on the tip of his tongue, but then he lets it go.

“Thanks,” he says instead. His fingers tighten around his bow and Niall knew it was too good to be true that he hadn’t moved. “Really, thank you.”

Niall softens at the defeated sound of his voice. “No worries. Shout if you need anything; I’m a light sleeper.”

//

Clint does end up shouting, but not for Niall. He gives it a minute or two before it stops, and shuffles downstairs rubbing at his his eyes. The sun is up now, so it doesn’t look like he’s getting anymore sleep even if it is gone – fucking hell, six AM – so he may as well get started on breakfast after checking on Hawk– Clint. 

“Everything alright?”

Clint doesn’t answer, and Niall quickly realizes that it’s because he doesn’t have his hearing aids in. He feels foolish for a second, talking to himself, but gets over it and lays a hand gently on Clint’s shoulder over the back of the sofa.

It doesn’t prove to be the best course of action, considering the way Clint’s whole body jolts, sending him into a series of painful groans. He’s no doubt sprained every bit of his injured body, and Niall is overcome with guilt.

“Sorry,” Niall says after Clint has tucked his aids into his ears. There’s still a layer of blood over the purple plastic, and Niall winces at it. “Are you okay?”

Clint’s face is a classic expression of _I’m in a world of pain and trying not to show it_. Niall should probably dig up some paracetamol at the very least, if he doesn’t end up having a leftover stash of painkillers from his last surgery.

“I’m fine. Nightmare, y’know?” 

Niall doesn’t know, but he nods. “You want breakfast? Coffee? It’s early but, no use in wasting daylight. You can go back to sleep if you want, though, I won’t bother you.”

Clint shakes his head and starts to sit up. 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll get up. I’ll help with the coffee.”

“You really don’t have to. And shouldn’t.” Niall panics for a second. He’s really going to injure himself further. “I’ll bring it all in here, you need to rest.”

“I need the bathroom, is what I need. Trust me, man, I’ve had worse. It’s not as bad as it looks. I’d be a shitty houseguest if I didn’t at least help. Plus… coffee.”

Clint doesn’t show any signs of sitting back down, and looks as though he’s going to get up whether Niall helps him or not. It leaves Niall with no choice but to catch him before he pitches over and help him down the hall. 

“You’re really stubborn, you know that?” Niall asks. 

Clint just snorts. “I’ve been told.”

“Right, by all your Avenger friends, I’m assuming?”

He’s hovering by the door even though Clint is well inside the bathroom, and it should be awkward. Actually, it is, but he can’t shut up. Why is he sweating?

“Yeah. Believe it or not, it takes a bit of hardheadedness – is that a word? – to keep up with a bunch of superheroes. If I don’t insist that I’m more than fine, they’ll leave me out. And I don’t like missing good fights and a chance to show off.” Clint fixes Niall with a dazzling grin that might be enough to put anyone’s brain out of commission for a few minutes. “Also my apartment building is constantly surrounded by assholes in tracksuits and I need to keep up my reputation of not backing down.”

Niall nods, barely understanding a word Clint is saying, too distracted by _how the hell can he look this good when his face is that fucked up_. 

“You’re mad,” he mutters. “I’ll be down the hall, shout if you, you know, collapse.”

Clint shuts the door. “I won’t!”

Niall isn’t sure if he means won’t collapse or won’t call for help, but he suspects it’s the latter. 

//

After breakfast, in which Clint manages to talk so much that Niall doesn’t get a word in but also eat twice as much as Niall does, Niall retreats back upstairs to survey the damage to his bedroom.

It’s… bad. Like it’s really bad and he’s not going to be able to salvage the carpet. He’s going to need new carpet. He also isn’t going to be able to sleep in his bedroom for a while. The repairs won’t exactly be a dent in his savings but Niall sort of hopes that Clint wasn’t kidding when he said that Tony Stark would cover it. That’d be one hell of a story. He frowns at the mess, feeling hopeless about it but simultaneously hoping that he can get over it before he can get someone to fix it. Unnecessary anxiety about messes that were made by an Avenger isn’t something Niall can afford these days. 

After that, he Googles how long it takes for broken ribs to heal.

When he makes his way back downstairs after falling down a bit of a research rabbit hole, Clint is asleep again. Niall makes sure to arrange a large glass of water and the half empty bottle of painkillers on the coffee table, along with some Ace bandage for Clint to wrap his ankle. Something in the back of his mind nags at him that Clint won’t actually use it on his own accord.

Niall then goes back upstairs, showers, dresses, grabs his car keys, and his spends his day actively trying not to think about the unconscious Avenger in his living room. 

//

“I don’t suppose you like golf, do you?”

Niall made sure to check that Clint’s hearing aids were in before talking this morning – third time’s the charm. He still whips his head around unnecessarily quickly, making Niall apologize again. 

“Ah, you’re fine. No, I’m not a big fan of golf. It’s very…” he waves a hand around, probably searching for a word that won’t insult Niall, “Slow? Tame. I dunno, I’m more of a fan of fast paced stuff, as you might’ve already guessed. But I don’t watch a lot of sports. Do you want to sit? I mean it’s your house but… I don’t bite.”

Niall’s been awkwardly hovering behind the sofa. 

He’d mostly left Clint on his own yesterday, mindlessly driving around Los Angeles having a sort of breakdown about how long a literal Avenger was going to have to stay in his house. Then that switched over to freaking out about how he was basically going to have to force said Avenger to stay. He didn’t end up coming home until very late by which time Clint was already seemingly out for the night. The only sign that he’d woken was that the glass of water that Niall had left him was empty. 

Niall tries to make it less awkward by falling into the opposite end of the couch that Clint has now made an official nest on, but he doesn’t know what else to say while he tries to sneakily assess the current state of Clint’s injuries. Even in the short time since Clint literally fell into Niall’s life, he’s quickly learned that Clint is really bad at letting on if he’s actually healing or not, considering how much he likes to bounce around as though he was never injured. He’s been doing it all day, trying to get up to help with breakfast again, or make attempts to coerce Niall into taking him outside to shoot. Each time, he steps onto his sprained ankle and nearly goes toppling to the floor and it’s making Niall feels as though he’s babysitting. It makes him very nervous as to what Clint got up to when he wasn’t around.

Clint quirks an eyebrow at him. “I’m fine, you know. I just need this ankle to stop being so irritating and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Right… are you going to wrap that by the way? Or am I going to have to force you?”

Clint gives Niall a challenging look, then shrugs. “What do you like to watch that isn’t golf?”

“Mostly just golf. And rugby. Sometimes football. Or if there’s a good MMA match on I’ll catch that.”

This prompts Clint to go on an hour long rant about the pros and cons of cable television and cable versus Netflix. In that hour, Niall learns far more than he’d ever hoped to know about the viewing habits of the Avengers, and about Clint’s in particular. It appears that he enjoys an odd mix of children’s cartoons and psychological dramas that Niall thinks Louis has mentioned. Niall stops listening after he notices that Clint has changed the plaster on the bridge of his nose and did his own butterfly stitches for the gash on his forehead. He looks… stupidly good all banged up and Niall wants to know when he found bloody and injured attractive. Maybe he just likes playing nurse. 

“Have you always been blond?” Clint asks suddenly. Then he’s in Niall’s space, ruffling his hair and being all sorts of _too close_. “Sorry! Sorry, usually I’m good about personal space. Just feel… weirdly comfortable with you. Sorry. Back to the question.”

Niall knows his face has turned red but Clint does him the favor of actually looking apologetic and not mentioning his blush.

“Started dyeing it when I was a teenager. Then they needed me to keep it that way so I would like… stay me. M’gonna let it grow out, go back natural during the break.”

Clint snorts. “ _The break_. You guys are still calling it that?”

Niall shrugs. He knows it’s more or less bullshit and that they won’t be back performing together for a while. At least not until they’re done being on their own and doing their own thing and enjoying just what it is they’ve wanted to do since they were kids. But he guesses there’s no point in lying to someone who’s got their fair share of fame and secrets. Plus, he’s part of a group of superheroes that only teams up when the world is close to ending. Maybe he knows a bit about going solo.

“It’s mostly for the fans’ benefit. We know it’s more than that. It’s not so much a break as it is a break from the band. But still a break, y’know?”

Clint nods. “I know.”

//

Clint has nightmares more often than not. Niall realizes this after a week of Clint sleeping on his couch and waking him up in the middle of the night. After three nights in a row of checking on him, Clint grants Niall permission to just ignore him and go back to sleep. So he does, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He realizes that he could shut his door and avoid the interruption altogether, but if Clint actually needs him for something… well, Niall isn’t willing to take that chance. This isn’t forever, anyway. Just until Clint is better. Then Niall can get all the full night sleeps that he wants. 

Niall also ends up forcing Clint’s ankle into the wrap, standing over him with arms crossed as he does it. He even gets him to put a pillow on the coffee table to elevate it, much to a disgruntled Clint’s dissatisfaction. Niall just sticks his tongue out at him, earning him a playful flipping off in return. The bastard is just going to have to deal with actually getting better. 

His ribs get better pretty quickly – so they weren’t broken after all – and the cuts on his face start to fade as one week turns into two. They’ve fallen into a routine of bickering over what to watch and the fact that Niall is apparently hovering (he’s _not_ ). They drink far more coffee than Niall had ever had in his life and one night Niall finds himself on the couch, across from Clint, watching him intently as he drunkenly babbles about how amazing he is at archery. It’s weird, and Niall doesn’t get it, but the mental image is making Niall jealous of anyone that’s gotten to see him in action.

“You’re telling me that you’ve never seen a video of the Avengers kicking ass somewhere? Never? Are you crazy? That’s like me saying I’ve never seen a single One Direction performance ever in my life not even by accident.”

“Yeah but,” Niall stumbles over his words, “You guys are like… on the _news_. That’s boring, no one watches that. We’re at like… the _VMAs._ See?”

“Oh I’m gonna–” He jokingly raises a fist at Niall. Then he starts frantically looking around. “You have to have a dartboard in here somewhere. Do you?”

Niall giggles. “Maybe.”

“We’ll go get it! You’re not going another moment without you being in awe of my impeccable aim.”

So Niall stumbles into his kitchen where the dartboard hangs as more of a decoration than an actual game and swaps it with one of his multi-platinum plaques that makes Clint whistle lowly when he tosses it onto the couch. He collects the darts in one hand and points at Clint with the other.

“I’m going first. Ten quid says you’re too drunk to make a bullseye.” Niall can barely see straight, but he knows this is a great idea.

“I don’t have any _quid_ ,” Clint says. “You can give me ten bucks when I do it, though.”

“Sure. We’ll see.”

The first dart bounces off the wall below the dartboard.

“Obviously that was a warm up shot.”

Clint snorts. “Obviously.” 

He smirks and he looks so good doing it that Niall nearly puts a dart in his own eye. The dart hits the board, just outside the center and clatters to the ground beside the first one. Okay, he just needs more power. The third one he throws lands in the outer ring, but sticks. The fourth one does the same.

“You’re gonna put me out of business, hitting shots like that. Irish Hawkeye to the rescue!”

Niall glares at him. “Don’t think I won’t throw one of these at you.”

“You wouldn’t.” Clint says matter of factly. “You’re way too dedicated to patching me up, you’d never injure me further.”

He’s right, but Niall doesn’t say so.

“Say, could you, um, help a guy up? Ankle. Wouldn’t want to undo your efforts.”

Niall actually laughs out loud at that. “Right, because you’re all about the healing.” But he acquiesces, hauling Clint to his feet and steadying him with a hand on his waist. 

And Niall really, really doesn’t mean to objectify the guy but… his muscles are solid under Niall’s calloused hand. He hasn’t seen Clint with his shirt off since his skin was mottled with dark bruises, but he imagines it can’t be all that bad to look at. Niall needs to get himself together.

“Prepare to be amazed.”

Niall’s already amazed, but Clint carries on anyway. He holds his hand out for the darts and waits for Niall to pluck them off the board (and floor). When they’re in his hand he takes a moment to test their weight, to shift his own, to compensate for his balance on only on ankle. Then he fires off all four darts in quick succession, all hitting the red center of the dartboard. Niall swears loudly.

“I’ll take a check if you don’t have the cash.” Clint is grinning smugly. Then he sways sideways. “Woah. Yeah, super drunk. Need to sit.”

They topple onto the couch. Niall digs in his pocket for a ten dollar bill and hands it over to Clint, who’s sitting much closer to Niall than Niall has dared to get in almost two weeks. 

Clint waves him off. “You keep that. I promise I don’t need it.”

“C’mon,” Niall insists, “You won the bet. You get a prize. Here, take it.”

“What if I… get to pick my prize?”

Oh no, Niall thinks, he’s gonna make Niall do something horrible like lick the toilet or run outside naked. Louis would definitely make him do that. Money is never a satisfying win these days.

“As long as I don’t come out the other end of it with some sort of disease, sure. Whatever you want.”

That probably sounds bad out of context, especially if you don’t know Louis, but Clint doesn’t say anything. He just looks thoughtful for a moment. But it’s one of those pretend thoughtful looks that Louis gets in meetings when someone asks him to consider something particularly stupid. Niall wants to ask him what he’s up to, but he just sits silently, anxiously awaiting his penance. 

“Um… how about a kiss?”

Niall’s mouth drops open, ready to ask if this is some kind of joke, but nothing comes out as he watches Clint’s face turn red. Oh God, he really wants to kiss Niall. Should he say yes? Should he maybe not be imagining how good it might be? He should probably say something before the silence stretches on too long but he’s coming up blank. Clint is starting to look genuinely nervous, fingers fiddling a plaster on his arm.

“God, sorry, you don’t have to, I’ll take the money–”

Niall snaps out of it. “I didn’t say no.”

Clint lets out all of his breath in a rush, along with an “Oh, thank God,” before shuffling across the remaining gap between them so that their thighs are nearly overlapping and Clint has Niall’s face between his hands. “Let me know if this isn’t okay, ‘kay?”

Niall nods eagerly. “‘Kay.”

Then Clint is surging forward and pressing their lips together so hard that their foreheads clunk together. Niall lets out an _mmph_ at the impact and it might be the worst first kiss he’s ever had because it’s not soft or gentle by a mile. But it’s also the best first kiss he’s ever had, just by the virtue that Clint was so desperate to kiss him that he couldn’t wait another second. He’s perfectly tall and towering over Niall, just the way he likes it, with his head tilted up and hands gripping tight at Clint’s – Niall’s, actually – t-shirt. 

Niall has to draw back because he’s started to laugh and Clint actually pouts. It’s the worst. He’s adorable. 

“Stop that.” Niall squeezes Clint’s waits to emphasize his point. “We’re both too drunk for this.”

Clint whines. “M’never too drunk for a bit of _snogging_.” He mauls the word with his American accent. He has the decency to wince. “Fine. You’re right. Too drunk. Just one more. Been wanting to do that since you made me wrap my ankle. Nurse in shining armor. You’re the best. C’mere. Please please please.”

Niall tells himself that he only kisses him again to shut up him, but his stomach swoops like the traitor that it is and he lets it go on for longer than he intends to. It’s just so _nice_ and Clint is so gentle – now that he’s gotten over the initial shock of it – but solid and taking control and Niall just… Niall melts with it. 

Clint is the one that pulls back this time. Niall nearly goes chasing after him, dazed. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s get you to bed. My turn to be mama hen. Let’s go.”

He hauls Niall to his feet, and it’s not until they’re at the top of the stairs that Niall realizes.

“Hey! Your ankle–” 

Clint laughs. “Ankle’s fine. Maybe I just like you looking after me.”

Niall punches him gently. “You’re a dick.” His words are entirely contradicted by him tightening his grip on Clint’s waist.

“You like it.”

He does like it, he really does. Even as Clint all but dumps him into his bed fully dressed, Niall can’t stop himself from calling after him as he retreats out of the room. 

“Hm?”

“The bed’s more comfortable, y’know.”

Smooth, Nialler.

Clint doesn’t say anything, just scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. It takes a whole minute for him to stop looking vaguely terrified at the suggestion – a whole minute in which Niall nearly throws up with the anticipation – before he shuffles over to the bed and drops himself onto it as well. He snuggles up to Niall, nose in his hair because shit, he’s really tall and Niall is just now noticing. Niall pulls him close. This is so ridiculous.

“Thank you,” Clint says quietly.

Niall’s just on the edge of consciousness, but he pulls himself out of it just enough to say, “Wha–?”

“For taking care of me, not leaving me to bleed out, not calling an ambulance or the cops or something. I’m really bad at taking care of myself and I’ve lost everyone who had ever been crazy enough to be willing to put up with me but… you thought I was worth your time and effort and I just– I really appreciate it.” He laughs, but it’s a sad sound. “I hate this emotional shit. But you saw me as someone worth saving. That’s supposed to be my job, you fucker.”

Niall doesn’t know what to do with all that, but he also doesn’t have to, because right after Clint says it he takes his hearing aids out and sets them on Niall’s bedside table. So Niall just squeezes him once, to let him know he heard. And that seems to be enough.

//

Niall texts Louis the next day. 

_Lou, you’re never gonna fucking believe this..._

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com/post/180552751349/crashing-into-you-by-nightwideopen-its-not-that)


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